The Language of Kisses
by Marauder
Summary: Frodo finally comprehends his feelings for Sam. Slash. The first in the Language Series.
1. Dreams and Discussions

The Language of Kisses by Marauder

Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Warning: This is slash. All flames will be used to cook Sam's taters.

Chapter One: Dreams and Discussions

He was naked, naked in the dark, and a cold wind was sweeping around him. A horrible feeling of loneliness and hopelessness had settled on him, and he despaired of it ever lifting. A desolate scream filled his lungs and burst out of his mouth. The darkness was unpierced by even the smallest ray of light. He could not even see a glimmer of the golden ring. "Sam!" he cried, tears springing from his eyes. "Sam!"

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"He's calling for him again," said Pippin, his eyes large with worry. "Do you think we ought to wake Sam up? He'd be angry to know that Frodo was calling for him and no one told him."

"That's why no one's _going_ to tell him," Merry retorted. "Have mercy on the poor lad, for pity's sake. He hasn't gotten any sleep for almost two days straight."

Indeed, it was true. Sam had been next to Frodo's bedside ever since he was brought to Rivendell, moving only to get out of the way of the elves. Both Bilbo and Gandalf had pleaded with him to go and get some sleep, but he had stubbornly refused. "I won't do him no good asleep in bed," he'd said. It had only been in the last hour that Sam had finally collapsed from exhaustion.

There was a small noise at the door. The two hobbits turned to find Elrond standing there with a bowl of soup in his hand. "He has not woken yet, I see."

"No, he hasn't," said Pippin sadly. "Elrond, you don't suppose he'll – "

"I do not know if he will die," said Elrond, saying the words so that Pippin wouldn't have to. "But I am fairly certain that he will live. That he has held on this long is good news indeed."

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The Eye was watching him, and there was no place to hide. He felt a sharp pain in his wound. "Sam!" he cried again. In the back of his mind he knew that Sam would be no help against the powers of the Dark Lord but that did not matter. If he was going to die, he wanted Sam with him in his last moments. "Sam!" he wailed. "I never told you…" But the screaming had sapped his strength, and he collapsed onto the ground.

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"What do you suppose he never told him?" Pippin whispered fearfully as Elrond departed. "Oh, if Frodo died, and there was something he never got the chance to say…"

"Hush!" said Merry, a bit too harshly. He made sure to soften his tone when he spoke again. "Pippin, have you ever heard tales of Frodo's uncle Dodinas Brandybuck?"

Pippin shook his curly head. "Nothing except his place in the family tree," he said. "What of him?"

Merry hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted to be telling the tale to someone who wasn't of age yet. Then again, he himself had heard the full story when he was twenty-nine, only a year older than Pippin. And Pippin had already seen and heard so much more of the world that he had at his age. "Well," he began, "to start off with, Dodinas was Frodo's mother Primula's older brother."

"I knew _that_," said Pippin, a little irritable from both stress and lack of sleep. "_That_ can't be why you're talking about him."

"And he fancied lads."

"What?"

"He fancied lads. In the way that most lads fancy lasses."

"You mean…like he wanted to marry one?!"

"Yes. And he did, in a fashion. He lived in Buckland with Colbo Hornblower for years until he died. Colbo was his seventh cousin twice removed, if you follow me."

"And they were like husband and wife?"

"Yes. They slept in the same bed and everything. I remember visiting them sometimes when I was a child, before Dodinas died."

Pippin seemed to be digesting all of this. "So what does old Dodinas have to do with our Frodo?"

Merry rolled his eyes heavenward. "There may be some that call you a fool, Peregrin, but I know you've got a good head on those shoulders. Think about it for a bit."

Pippin's eyes widened. "You think…you think Frodo fancies Sam?"

"Well, I don't _know_. But I've often wondered why Frodo never married – "

"Because everyone thinks he's odd, that's why!"

" – and I've noticed that he's more happy around Sam than he is around anyone else in the world. And Sam's positively devoted to him."

"It's strange," said Pippin, standing up. "It's strange and I don't like to think of it."

"It wouldn't hurt anything if they were, Pippin!" Merry cried. The thought of Pippin being bothered by Frodo and whatever he might be was more than he could stand at that moment. "Name me one thing or person it would hurt!"

Pippin turned around and sighed. "You're right, Merry, it wouldn't hurt anyone," he said. "And I would like to see Frodo happy…he's been so melancholy since Bilbo went away."

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A pair of arms encircled him and pressed him close. He looked and, through the tears, saw Sam's broad face. "Sam," he whispered. "You came."

"Of course I did," Sam whispered back. And then their lips met in a sweet union of caring and passion.


	2. Bargains and Beauty

Chapter Two: Bargains and Beauty

Sam woke to a strong hand clamped on his shoulder. He opened his eyes slowly, then looked up to see Gandalf standing over him.

"They're taking excellent care of him, Sam," the wizard said gently. "I think Frodo would want you to get some rest. Elrond's had a room fixed up for you right across the hallway."

"We'll call you right away when he wakes up, Sam," said Pippin, who was standing on the other side of the bed next to Merry. "Elrond says he's made wonderful progress. It shouldn't be too much longer. Come on, even Bilbo gave in a few hours ago."

"If it ain't going to be too much longer, then I can wait," said Sam firmly. He had come on this quest mainly to help Frodo, and that was what he was going to do, even if he was weak from fatigue. Besides, Frodo might be alarmed if he woke up and his Sam wasn't there, and alarm was not something Frodo needed.

"Well, we're going to go to bed," said Merry. "My room is across the way and down one and Pippin's is three down to the left on this side of the hall. Tell us when he wakes up." They left out the door, leaving Gandalf and Sam alone with Frodo.

"You won't be much good to Frodo if you're worn-out and exhausted," said Gandalf, a bit more sternly this time. 

"Just a bit longer, Mr. Gandalf," Sam pleaded. "I'll make a bargain with you, how's that? If Mr. Frodo hasn't woken by nine-thirty, I'll go off to bed. It's only another four hours, and that won't seem like much after four days, if you follow me."

Gandalf sighed a heavy sigh and ran one hand through his long grey hair. "All right. But I'm holding you to that promise, Samwise Gamgee. If you aren't in bed by nine-thirty, I'll put you there by magic."

"All right, sir, it's a bargain," said Sam. Gandalf smiled and departed.

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Frodo's translucent eyelids were closed, and his breathing was regular and deep now. Even if he hadn't woken yet, Sam was comforted by the fact that he didn't seem to be having nightmares anymore. He rested Frodo's hand in his, and its coldness reawakened his fears.

Though he had known Frodo for years, ever since he came to live at Bag End, Sam was still struck by his beauty. Frodo's skin was like ivory in comparison to his own, which was reddened by the sun. Though most hobbits had brown hair, Frodo was one of the rare ones who had hair the color of the darkest chocolate, so dark that it was almost black. Some days back at home Frodo would come outside to see how the garden was coming, and Sam would look up to see the sun glinting off of his master's hair, bringing out the lighter highlights.

And, after hours upon hours of keeping vigil at his bedside, Sam knew every detail of Frodo's left hand, the one that lay on top of the coverlet. The nails, nicely filed when they had begun their journey, were now bitten down to the cameo-colored part that lay directly on top of his fingers. There was a small cut at the base of his thumb. Yet Frodo's hand, with its long slim fingers and almost incandescent paleness, still gave off a certain elegance.

Some hobbits were plain. Others were pretty. Frodo Baggins was exquisite.

Frodo stirred slightly, his long eyelashes fluttering, and for a second Sam thought he was going to wake up. But Frodo sighed and settled down back into the blankets.

He lay like that for over an hour, and, just as Sam was beginning to think that he should take everyone's advice, Frodo murmured, "Sam."

"I'm here, sir," whispered Sam quickly, and kissed Frodo's hand. Whether his master heard him or not, he could not say.


	3. Comeliness and Confusion

Chapter Three: Comeliness and Confusion

Late in the evening of October twenty-fourth, Frodo collapsed in bed, thoroughly exhausted. So much had happened; not just that day, but in the days since he and his friends had arrived. It made his head spin to think of it all.

That morning, he had woken around ten, terribly hungry and a bit confused. His dreams of the darkness had still been with him, but they were more distant now, and, as Frodo thought, he could not precisely say what had happened in them.

But he did not dwell on trying to remember, for there was good news among the bad to think of. Best of all, he had finally seen Bilbo again.

When Bilbo had disappeared on their birthday, Bilbo's eleventy-first and Frodo's thirty-third, Frodo had been both relieved and saddened. Although he knew that Bilbo loved him dearly and had never regretted adopting him, there had been times where he would catch Bilbo gazing off wistfully in the direction of the mountains, and he knew the older hobbit was yearning for another taste of the world away from the Shire. He hadn't fully understood why at the time – after all, he adored the Shire and felt sure he would never feel quite at home anywhere else – but now, enveloped in the splendor of Rivendell, Frodo thought that perhaps he understood a little bit better.

Rivendell was almost like a chimera, the exact sort of place where people so splendid they were practically unreal might turn up. And they had – there were Elrond and Gloin of Bilbo's old tales, people Frodo had heard of since he was in his tweens but always thought of as a bit mythical. And there was the Lady Arwen, Elrond's daughter, who possessed both the fair gracefulness of the Elven-kind and the dark magnificence of Men.

And yet, amid the resplendence of Rivendell, Frodo could still feel the weight of the Ring. He lifted it up and gazed at it, turning it over and examining it from every angle. It was so small, and plain, and unassuming. If it were not for the remaining blackness that still dwelled in the back of his mind, Frodo would have found it hard to fear the Ring, here, in the Last Homely House, where noble people abided and light shone throughout. Here, in the Last Homely House, where Sam slept just across the corridor.

Sam. In Frodo's dream he had cried out for him, and he had learned when he awoke that Sam had hardly left his side. That was just the sort of thing Sam would do; put others above himself, even if he were tired and under a great deal of tension.

The only good part of Frodo's dream came back to him: the kiss, so filled with love and compassion, so filled with light. Sam. His light in the darkness.

But as Frodo continued to think of the dream, his heart skipped a few beats. Then, if he had dreamed of kissing Sam, then that meant - 

There was a quiet knock at the door. "It's Merry and Pippin," said a voice from the other side. "Do you suppose we could talk with you for a moment? That is, if you aren't too tired…" 

"No, come in!" said Frodo quickly. He had not had as much time as he would have liked to speak with his cousins during the day, and he figured that this was as good a time as any.

They came in, Merry first, with a look of determination in his eye that Frodo was not accustomed to. Pippin followed. His face was bright scarlet and he was staring at the floor. The blush put Frodo in mind of Sam again – Sam, that morning, when he had seen him again. He still remembered the gentle touch of Sam's hand on his.

"So," he said now to Pippin, "what've you done that you're as red as a strawberry? Haven't been stealing from the kitchens, have you?"

"Merry wants to ask you something," Pippin mumbled, his eyes downcast.

"Oh no you don't," said Merry. "We said we'd do this together, and don't bail out on me now, just because we decided I'd be the one to actually ask it. Don't make it sound as if you're just along for company."

"What?" asked Frodo.

Merry swallowed. "Well, Frodo, your business is your own, and you're under no obligation to answer this if you don't want to. But we're only asking because we care about you. Frodo…" He too blushed, and did not continue.

"Well, what is it!" cried Frodo, unable to take the suspense. "If you've got something you want to ask me, out with it!"

"Well…I was just wondering…I could be wrong, mind you…but I thought it might be possible…that…maybe…"

"He wants to know if you're in love with Sam!" Pippin burst out suddenly. The color of his face changed from strawberry to cranberry.

There was a silence. "What makes you ask that?" Frodo said when his heart slowed to normal.

"You cried out for him in your sleep," said Merry, his voice soft. "Many times. And when he walks into a room…you just light up, Frodo. I've seen it. You two have always been close, especially for an employer and servant. Even closer since Bilbo went away." He bit his lip. "And we wanted you to know that…that if you were, we wouldn't mind."

Frodo thought. "I don't know," he said finally. "I know I'm happier when he's around, and I know that he's very dear to me. When I was dreaming I was regretting that I've never told him how much I cherish his friendship. But love…romantic love…I don't know." He sighed. "I might be."

Merry nodded. "Like I said before, you don't have to answer. But I'll just say this: if you do love him, you couldn't have picked a better person." He leaned over and kissed Frodo on the forehead. "Goodnight, Frodo."

"Goodnight, Merry."

"'Night," muttered Pippin, the blush fading but still noticeable. He pecked Frodo's forehead quickly and then hurried after Merry through the door.

"Good night, Pippin," said Frodo to his retreating form.

He lay back on the pillow, even more confused now than he had been mere minutes ago. The day had been too full of things to think about. Weary, he pulled the coverlet up over his head and fell into a restless sleep.


	4. Questions and Quarters

Note: This chapter contains a few direct quotations from _The Fellowship of the Ring_, Book Two, Chapter Three: The Ring Goes South. For the sake of flow, they have not been specially distinguished.

Chapter Four: Questions and Quarters

The council was over. Legolas was talking to Glorfindel in one corner, and everyone else was heading out the door. Frodo turned to Sam.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He was fairly positive that he would not be able to persuade Sam otherwise, but he wanted to give him a chance to back out.

"Of course I do, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, surprise in his voice. "You can't be going all the way to Mordor by yourself. What if something was to happen to you? No, you need someone to look after you a bit, and it should be me."

"Sam," said Frodo, desperation in his voice, "this is going to be a difficult and dangerous journey. I don't think any of us, save Gandalf, Elrond, and perhaps Strider, truly understand the perils that may befall those who choose to undertake it."

"All the more reason you'll be needing me," said Sam. "Besides, I couldn't live with myself if something was to happen to you, so far away from home and with strange folk. You won't be changing my mind on this, Mr. Frodo, try as you might. I'm going with you."

"All right," sighed Frodo, "but I hope you won't regret it."

"Regret it!" cried Sam, indignant. "Mr. Frodo, don't you know your Sam better than that?!"

__

Your Sam. They were words that Frodo had heard for ages, but suddenly they sounded different to his ears. From behind him, he heard a voice say his name, and he turned around. It was Strider.

"I would like to commend your bravery, Frodo," he said gravely. "It is a decision that many would not make if they were, like yourself, given the choice."

Frodo nodded and smiled a small smile, not sure of what to say to such praise. It felt undeserved. As he had said, he did not fully understand the danger that he had chosen to follow. "Thank you, Strider," he said, the words feeling strange and awkward in his mouth. 

"I believe that Meriadoc and Peregrin are waiting to hear your report of the council," said the Ranger. "When last I heard, they had been caught spying at the keyhole." 

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"Sam's to go with you!" Merry exclaimed later when the hobbits met in Bilbo's chamber. "Well, if he's to be your companion, so are we! If they think we're just going to go home while you go off to Mordor, they've got another thing coming."

"It's most unfair," said Pippin. "Instead of throwing him out, and clapping him in chains, Elrond goes and _rewards_ him for his cheek!" Sam blushed, and Merry shot Pippin a reproachful look.

Rage surged inside Frodo – not so much at Pippin, but at his youthful ignorance. "Rewards!" he said, and his voice was harsh. "I can't imagine a more severe punishment. You are not thinking what you are saying: condemned to go on this hopeless journey, a reward? Yesterday I dreamed that my task was done, and I could rest here, a long while, perhaps for good."

The dream had come to him in the fresh hours of the morning, just before he had awakened. The more Frodo saw of Rivendell, the more he thought that he might like to live there, especially because he would be with Bilbo again. The only problem in the plan was Sam. Frodo knew that he would stay there with him immediately if asked, but it didn't seem fair to ask Sam to live so far away from his family.

"I don't wonder," said Merry, "and I wish you could. But we are envying Sam, not you. If you have to go, then it will be a punishment for any of us to be left behind, even in Rivendell. We have come a long way with you, and been through some stiff times. We want to go on."

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"Here is the key to my room," said Frodo to Sam after the meeting of the hobbits has dispersed. "My dreams…they haven't always been pleasant lately." That was a severe understatement, but Frodo was reluctant to burden Sam further with more of his problems. "If I should shout, come in and wake me up." 

"I'll do better than that," said Sam. "I've been thinking that it might be a help to you if I was to move my bed into your room. Then I could be there right away if you were to have nightmares, if you follow me."

"I do," said Frodo, trying to ignore the leap that his heart gave. "I'll speak to Elrond about it."


	5. Embraces and Eyes

Chapter Five: Embraces and Eyes

As much as Frodo loved Rivendell, the one thing he didn't like was how big it was. Even an Elf could be easily lost there if they did not know their way around. He had thought he remembered where Elrond's chamber was, but he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, because shortly after leaving his room he found himself lost.

"Excuse me," he said to an Elf that was walking down the passageway, "could you tell me where the chamber of Master Elrond is?"

The Elf bowed low. "Certainly, Master _Perian_," he said. "First you must walk back the way you came until you reach the end of the corridor. Once you arrive there, climb the stairs one flight. Walk down the hallway at the top of the stairs until you reach the end. Then turn to your left. It will be the fourth door on the right."

"Thank you," said Frodo, and he began to walk back down the passageway.

He was nervous, he realized as he ascended the staircase. Which was silly, of course. There was no reason to be nervous about asking Elrond if Sam's bed could be moved into his room. He was quite sure Elrond wouldn't mind, and would certainly approve if he thought it would aide Frodo's recovery.

As he walked down the corridor, he realized that his palms were sweating. "This is ridiculous, Frodo," he said to himself. "It's a simple request. There's no reason to be tense."

Once he reached the end of the hallway, he realized that he had forgotten the Elf's directions. Was it "turn to the left, fourth door on the right" or "turn to the right, fourth door on the left"? Frodo decided to try the latter.

The fourth door on the right was magnificently carved and inlaid with white jewels. It certainly looked grand enough to be for Elrond. Frodo knocked. There was no answer. The door was open slightly, so he pushed it open a bit and stuck his head in.

His ears turned red right up to the tips. Inside the room were Strider and the Lady Arwen, kissing passionately. Their bodies were pressed close together and Strider was running one hand through the Lady's hair.

"I'm sorry!" Frodo blurted hastily, not realizing in his embarrassment that they had not noticed him. The two sprang apart and turned towards him, their mouths open in surprise.

"I'm s-sorry," Frodo stuttered, "but I was looking for Elrond's room, and I got lost, and –"

Strider held up one hand. "It's all right, Frodo," he said softly. "I believe you will find Elrond's room down this corridor and – "

"On the left, I know, thank you," said Frodo, and decided to leave before he made even more of a fool of himself.

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After reaching the actual door, Frodo knocked. "Who is it?" asked a voice from within.

"It-it's Frodo Baggins," said Frodo. "Is Elrond – "

The door opened and Elrond came out. "Yes?" he asked. "Come inside."

"Oh, I don't want to trouble you, I've just got a question," said Frodo. "Do you suppose that" he wiped his hands on his trousers "we could move Sam's bed into my room?"

To Frodo's surprise, Elrond knelt down on the floor and rested his hands upon Frodo's shoulders. Their eyes met, cerulean upon woad. Frodo blinked after a couple of seconds, worried and uncertain as to what this was about, but Elrond did not. Finally, after almost a minute, Elrond removed his hands from Frodo's shoulders and rose.

"You may," he said quietly.

"Thank you," said Frodo, and hurried back to his room before he could have any more discomforting experiences.


	6. Undressing and Uncertainty

Chapter Six: Undressing and Uncertainty

When Frodo returned, still perplexed and flustered, to his room, Sam wasn't there. So Frodo decided to go down the hall to Pippin's room to ask for help with the bed. Next to Sam, Pippin was the strongest hobbit out of the five currently staying in Rivendell.

Frodo found Pippin gazing out of the window in his room and blowing smoke rings. He was surprisingly adept at the art for someone who had taken up smoking only a year ago. "You'll have to teach me sometime," said Frodo. Pippin turned around. "I don't think I've ever managed to make a ring that big before."

"Oh, hello Frodo," said Pippin. "It isn't hard, really. You just…" His sentence trailed off and did not continue.

"Frodo," he said, after another few seconds, "I'm-I'm sorry if I've been bothersome lately. Especially earlier today…I didn't mean to be so cross with Sam."

"That's all right, Pippin," said Frodo, walking over to his cousin and laying one hand on his shoulder. "I don't hold it against you." Pippin smiled. "Now, I need you to help me move something.

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"So, what does this mean?" asked Pippin as he grasped the headboard.

"All right, lift. What does what mean?" Frodo responded.

"That Sam's bed is going to be in your room."

Frodo, lifting the end of the bed, glanced over his shoulder to make sure he didn't hit the door frame. "It means that Sam wants to be nearby me in case I have nightmares." He lowered his voice. "Nothing romantic, Pippin."

For once, Pippin did not blush.

They had stopped for a rest at the door to Frodo's room when a voice cried out from behind them. "Mr. Frodo! What do you think you're doing?" Frodo turned around. It was Sam, looking quite worried.

"I thought you wanted your bed in my room."

"I do, but not your lifting it! What are you thinking! Here you are, sick and wounded for days, just having woken up yesterday, and you go and try to move furniture. I won't have it!"

"I'm sorry, Sam."

"And you, Mr. Pippin, letting him! Sometimes I wonder if a single thought ever goes through that – "

"Sam!" Frodo interrupted. Pippin was looking quite ashamed of himself. "I'm fine. There's no harm done. Now how about you two finish moving the bed."

Within the next few minutes, Sam's bed was positioned across the room from Frodo's. "I'm going to go down to the kitchens now and see about your breakfast for tomorrow, sir," said Sam, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Elves are fine and all, but I'm not sure that too much of their food is good for a hobbit." He left. Frodo turned back to Pippin.

The younger hobbit was looking a bit dazed. "He really does care about you," he said faintly. 

Frodo smiled a tight smile. "He does."

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The sun had set and, while Sam was gone, Frodo got ready for bed and slid under the covers. Sam had been right. The exertion was too much for him. He lay silently and was almost asleep when the door opened.

"Don't you worry, sir, it's just me," said Sam, entering with a candle in one hand and a bag in the other. He glanced over at his master. "In bed already, are you? Probably the best thing to do. I think I'll turn in myself." He walked over to his bed and set the candle down on a table.

"He's still tired from being up so many long nights," Frodo thought to himself.

Sam began to unbutton his vest. "They say in the kitchens that they're fixing something called _lembas_ for tomorrow's breakfast," he said as he reached the last button. "Sounds a bit odd to me. I asked them if they had any taters, and they said they did." He slid the vest off of his wide shoulders. "According to them, Mr. Bilbo's got a garden that they come from."

Frodo stared, transfixed. Part of him was unwilling to look away from Sam's undressing because Sam was speaking to him, and he had been taught as a young hobbit to always look at people when they are speaking to you. But that wasn't the only reason. Frodo could not say why, but another part of him was fascinated with the way Sam's fingers undid buttons.

"So I thought I'd make you some tater soup for dinner," said Sam, his thick fingers now working on opening his shirt. Frodo now became aware of his own breathing, long and heavy. 

"Stop it," he told himself. "Give the fellow some privacy. Look away."

But his eyes remained stationary.

Sam was now removing his shirt and reaching for the top to the pajamas that he had taken out from his bag. He took his shirt off. Frodo sighed involuntarily, and then mentally slapped himself. This was getting absurd. He forced himself to shut his eyes.

"I'm still not sure what to do about breakfast, though," said Sam. "I should've thought to ask about eggs. They _must_ have eggs, wouldn't you think so, Mr. Frodo?"

"It seems likely," said Frodo, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

There was a pause. "Are you all right, sir?"

"I'm fine, Sam."

"You're not just telling me that so I won't be worrying, now, are you?"

"No, really, I'm fine."

"All right. But, as I was saying, I forgot to ask about eggs." There was a soft thump, and Frodo knew that Sam had just taken his trousers off. He tried to concentrate on Sam's words only and forget about what else he was doing.

"I don't remember any of Mr. Bilbo's old tales ever mentioning what Elves eat. But Mr. Bilbo's been eating whatever that may be for years now, and he looks quite healthy. I don't think that it'll do you harm, if you follow me, but it seems to me that what you're used to eating would be better."

The darkness behind Frodo's eyelids became darker, and he opened his eyes to find that the candle had been blown out. "Now don't worry about any dreams, Mr. Frodo," came Sam's sleepy voice from across the room. "I'll be here if you have any upsetting ones."

"Thank you, Sam," said Frodo.

There was no getting around it, he realized. Love or no love, there was something about Sam that deeply intrigued him, and that something would not relent.


	7. Partings and Potatoes

Chapter Seven: Partings and Potatoes

Frodo woke up to the sight of a pair of boots dangling outside his window. With a thud, the rest of the body followed and landed. It was Aragorn, climbing down from an upper level. Upon seeing Frodo, he raised on finger to his lips and gestured from him to be silent.

Something Gandalf had said the day before came back to him. Aragorn was supposed to have left Rivendell yesterday with Elrond's sons. Frodo nodded. Aragorn lowered his hand and beckoned him to windowsill.

"You're supposed to be gone," Frodo whispered as he got out of bed.

"I know," said Aragorn, his voice deep but soft. "Elrond's sons are waiting for me some miles away. I must leave before I am discovered."

"Was it because of the Lady Arwen? That you stayed the extra night, I mean."

"Yes. It has been a very long time since our last meeting. Much, much too long."

Sam rolled over in his sleep. Aragorn reached through the window and grasped Frodo's hand. "I ought to leave. But hopefully it will not be long before I see you again." His look became more intense, and for a moment Frodo was reminded of the frightening way Aragorn had looked when they first met. "Will you keep an eye on Arwen for me?"

"I will," Frodo whispered. 

"I cannot ask you to take care of her, for it is a very great task. She has great periods of sorrow, and they are not good for her health, nor that of those who care deeply about her. But I do ask you to be her occasional companion while I am gone. Can you do that for me, Frodo? It would ease my mind greatly."

"Yes," Frodo whispered.

Aragorn nodded and clasped his hand tighter before he let go. Frodo noticed for the first time an unsaddled chestnut horse a few feet away. Aragorn mounted it in one swift motion and looked back at Frodo one last time.

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Strider."

"Oh, and don't let Sam worry too much about you," said the Ranger. "He cares about you very much." And then, with a clattering of hooves, he was gone.

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Frodo stared after him until he was merely a speck in the distance. He heard the bed springs squeak behind him and turned around. Sam had woken up.

"I thought I heard noises," he said, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

"I was just talking to myself."

"You weren't having any more nightmares, were you?" His look was one of both suspicion and concern.

"No, I actually slept very soundly and deeply last night."

Sam smiled. "I'm glad to hear it, sir." He yawned. "Must be Rivendell. I can't imagine anyone suffering for too long in this place."

"Or else it's because you were here with me," aid Frodo. Confused as he was, he still wanted to tell Sam what he had wanted to tell him in the dream. "Sam…I'd like to thank you for being a good friend to me."

Sam blushed and looked down. "It's nothing, sir," he muttered.

"No, I mean it," Frodo insisted. "I really don't know where I'd be without you. You were there after Bilbo left and you're here now and you're going to be with me in Mordor. That means a great deal to me."

Sam raised his head, his honey-colored curls falling back from his forehead. "Thank you, Mr. Frodo." He pulled back the blanket and slipped out of bed. "Now, I say we get dressed and see about those taters of Mr. Bilbo's."

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Not only did Bilbo have a garden, he had a small chicken coop, which made Sam very happy, especially after Bilbo told him that Elves didn't like eggs very much. "Well, except for Elrond," he said, leaning against the door of the coop, "but then he has mortal blood in him, which may account for it." He unhooked the latch to the door. "Now, my lads, let's go and see if the hens are being generous today."

Inside were one rooster and four hens, one of whom looked particularly sour. When Bilbo tried to lift her up to check for eggs, she pecked him hard and jumped down in a flurry of feathers.

Bilbo rubbed the spot on his hand where she had attacked. "Blasted Lobelia."

Frodo laughed, the first time in a very long time and most certainly the first time in Rivendell. "You named her _Lobelia_?"

"It seemed fitting," said Bilbo, scooping up two eggs.

They gathered five eggs in all: one for Bilbo, one for Sam, two for Frodo ("And no arguing, neither, sir!") and one for Elrond. Then it was off to the potatoes.

"I'm afraid they're not nearly as good as the ones your Gaffer can grow, Sam," said Bilbo. "I tried all of his advice, but I just don't have the touch." He picked up a small spade and began to dig in the ground.

It was unusually hot for autumn, Frodo noticed. Not only hot, it was humid. He wiped his brow with his handkerchief and took off his vest.

"My Gaffer's not growing too much these days, sir," said Sam. "His joints has gone all stiff." 

"Sam does all the gardening now, Bilbo," said Frodo. "And I'm pleased to report that his potatoes grow every bit as large."

Bilbo reached down into the soil and brought up a small potato. Looking at its rough brown skin made Frodo's mouth even dryer. Bilbo was right, though. His potatoes were about half the size of the Gaffer's and somewhat more shriveled.

"Well, it's not bad, Mr. Bilbo," said Sam. "But you're right, they're not as healthy as they could be. What are you using for fertilizer?"

The sun was scorching, and Frodo's shirt was beginning to soak through with sweat. He was just beginning to undo the top button when everything went black.

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"Look, Sam, he's coming to."

Frodo blinked and sat up a bit, dazed. He felt Bilbo's hand on his shoulder.

"When was the last time you had any water, lad?"

Frodo opened his mouth but then shut it again. He couldn't remember.

"Too long ago, I'd say. Best thing to do would be to get you back to your room and get you something to drink straight off."

Frodo began to sit up, but Bilbo's hand gently pushed him back down. "Oh no you don't. I won't have you walking. Let me see…Sam, do you suppose you could carry him?"

"Probably I could," said Sam. "He's a good bit thinner than he was when we left home." Bilbo moved over and Sam knelt down at Frodo's side. "Here, Mr. Frodo, put your arms around my neck."

With one arm under Frodo's knees and the other on his back, Sam carried him away to the Last Homely House, with Bilbo close behind. The position placed Frodo's head on Sam's chest. He listened to the steady rhythm of Sam's footsteps falling and his heart beating.

"What happened!" Frodo heard a soft female voice exclaim when they were inside.

"I'm afraid my nephew's dehydrated, my lady."

Frodo gazed up to see a soft curtain of dark hair and two cerulean eyes, Elrond's eyes in a maiden's face.

"And it's no surprise, what with the heat outside," said the Lady Arwen. "While you two take him to his chamber, I will go and get him some water."

"Plenty of it, please, my lady!" Sam called after her as she walked down the hall. Arwen turned back and gave him a reassuring smile. 


	8. Water and Wishes

Chapter Eight: Water and Wishes

Once they entered Frodo's room, Bilbo pulled back the coverlet and Sam set Frodo down on the bed. The Lady Arwen entered a second later with a pitcher of water and a glass goblet.

"It is imperative that he regains his strength," she said. "Therefore, Samwise, I need you to make him something to eat."

Sam took the egg basket from Bilbo. "Fried or scrambled, sir?" he asked, naming the only two ways his master ever ate an egg.

"Scrambled," said Frodo, his throat parched and his voice unsteady. Sam nodded and rushed out of the room, eager to help in any way that he could.

Arwen turned to Bilbo. "I do not think that an ailment like this will require my father's care," she said, her voice soft and melodious. "But nevertheless, he will be upset if he is not told. Will you go and find him for me?"

"Certainly, my lady," said Bilbo, and kissed her hand.

Now Frodo and the Lady Arwen were alone. She held the pitcher in front of him. "You must not drink it too quickly, Frodo, no matter how much you may want to," she said. "So much water after dehydration will be a shock to your body, and I do not want your recovery to be hurt." She poured him a glass of the liquid and handed it to him.

Frodo tried to do as she said, but it was very difficult. The pure coolness of the water flowing down his dry throat was like an elixir of strength. When the glass was empty, he thanked her, and asked for another.

"You must pay special attention to taking care of yourself," said the Lady. "Not only because of your wound, but because the Ring destroys."

Frodo set down the goblet. "This may sound foolish to you," he said, "and ignorant, but it seems to me that Rivendell is such a good and splendidly beautiful place that the Ring _couldn't_ hurt anyone here."

Arwen smiled. "I hear your words not as ignorance but as high praise, Frodo son of Drogo," she said. "It may be that Rivendell heals pain, but I would still be very careful if I bore the Ring's burden." A dark shadow of anguish crossed her fair face. "For some, not even the glorious splendor of Rivendell can cure their misery."

Frodo hesitated. Then he said, "Do you speak of your feelings for Stri – Aragorn, my lady?"

Arwen looked up at him, here eyes shining with unshed tears. "It is not right that I should unburden myself to you, Frodo," she said. "The load you carry is so heavy already."

"It seems much lighter than yours, here, in the Last Homely House," said Frodo. "I think that to talk would ease the pain. And Aragorn would not want you to suffer."

Arwen's lip trembled and suddenly she began to wail, her pale body shaking with sobs. Frodo's eyes widened in alarm. "It's all right!" he cried. He hurriedly climbed off of the bed and dug through one of the bags that lay on the other side of the room. After a few seconds, he found what he was looking for. "Here, here's my handkerchief."

Arwen took it, but unfortunately its small size prevented it from doing much good. Frodo took her hand in his. "You can use the corner of my blanket, if you like."

"Thank you," said Arwen, and she wiped her eyes on the soft edge of the coverlet.

"You have heard, Frodo, the lay of Beren and Luthien Tinuviel?" she asked when the majority of the tears had subsided.

"Yes."

"If I were marry Aragorn, my fate would be that of Tinuviel. While my father, friends, and relatives lived on, I would perish at Aragorn's death."

Frodo pondered this, and the enormity of it struck him for the first time. It would be like if he, choosing love, would die before everyone – before Bilbo, before Merry, before Pippin, before even Lobelia. But choosing love with whom, he asked himself. Sam?

"If I could do as I pleased," said Arwen, "I would marry Estel now, before he leaves on this perilous quest. He wants to travel with you to Mordor."

"Estel?" asked Frodo.

"It was a name of his youth, an Elvish name meaning 'hope'," said Arwen. "It is the name by which I first met him and it is the name by which I think of him, though his true name is Aragorn." She sighed. "I would marry him now, but my father fears for my doom, should Aragorn die on his journey. It is understandable, and I would most likely think the same for my own child, if I had one, but the choice is mine and not his. Still, I do not wish to hurt him. It is inevitable that my marriage to Aragorn will injure him, for it insures our separation, but I have no desire to hurt him again with disobedience."

"I wish I could help you," said Frodo, "but I have no experience in these matters."

"If I could," said Arwen, "I would go on this mission with you, and him. There I could be with the man I love and not be disloyal to my father, for I would go as a fellow traveler and not as Aragorn's wife."

"I think you should ask him if you could," said Frodo, "for there were many things left undecided in the Council of Elrond, and I do not know yet who will all accompany me. I would be greatly honored to have you as a companion."

Arwen raised his hand and kissed it. "I thank you for your advice," she said. "I may take it. But for now, I will go and see if Samwise has finished with your eggs."


	9. Names and Needles

Chapter Nine: Names and Needles

Sam entered a few minutes later. He was carrying a tray, and Merry and Pippin followed behind him.

"So, I hear you've made Sam worry again, you old ass," said Merry genially to Frodo as he sat down on the edge of his bed. Frodo smiled, and Sam gave him the tray.

"But if getting a breakfast as fine as this one is what comes of it, then I might get dehydrated myself," said Pippin, sitting next to Merry. "Look at the size of that apple!"

"And the eggs look delicious," said Merry. "Sam, you don't suppose that – "

"You can cook for yourselves, you lazy things," said Frodo, and took a sip of tea. "As I remember, both of you are perfectly adept in the kitchen."

"As opposed to you," said Pippin, "who burns the toast by looking at it!"

"I expect you'd have starved by now without Sam," said Merry, "or at least been terribly thin."

"He's too thin now, if I may make so bold," said Sam. "His clothes hang too loose."

"It doesn't look _too_ horrible, does it?" asked Frodo, examining his shirt.

"Nothing a few alterations won't fix. I should've thought to bring a needle and thread from home."

"I'm sure they'll have some here," said Merry.

The door opened and Elrond came in, carrying a basin of water, which he set down next to Frodo's bed. "Ah, I see you have visitors," he said, smiling gently. "How are you feeling now, Frodo?"

"Much better," said Frodo, "with much thanks to the Lady Arwen. And Sam's excellent cooking, of course."

"You seem to be in good spirits," said Elrond, "and because of that, I see no reason why you should stay in bed. But first, I think that your wound should be washed and re-bandaged. If you could remove your shirt, please."

Frodo's stomach felt a bit queasy as he undid the buttons, but of course that was foolish. It wasn't as if they hadn't all seen him bare-chested before at some point or another. But the fact that they were watching him, particularly that Sam was watching him, made him nervous. 

"Look there, that's just what I'm talking about," said Sam as Elrond wet the cloth. "You can see his ribs plain as day."

"You're right, he has gotten thinner," said Merry. Elrond squeezed the excess water out and began to take off Frodo's bandage.

"We'll have to make sure you eat," said Pippin. "From now on, you aren't allowed to go to bed at night without having eaten five pounds of food first."

"I hope you are jesting, Peregrin," said Elrond in a grave voice, but from the corner of his eye Frodo could see a hint of a smile twitching in the crevice of the Elf's mouth. Elrond began to cleanse the wound. Frodo gritted his teeth.

"Does it hurt terribly much, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, his voice worried.

"No, just a little," said Frodo, but the truth was that it stung a great deal. To his dismay, Elrond pressed harder with the cloth. Frodo shut his eyes.

Strong and warm fingers entwined with his and squeezed lightly. "It looks like Mr. Elrond's almost finished, sir," he heard Sam say.

"Yes, I am," said Elrond. "And when I am, Sam, I will leave your master to finish his breakfast."

A single thought flashed through Frodo's mind without him willing it: "I don't want to be his master." He had never thought of it before, but the moment he thought it he realized its truth.

Master. The word became more asinine the more he thought about it. It was supposed to imply that he had some sort of authority over Sam, which was, as far as Frodo could see, a falsehood. What they were could not be adequately described as "master and servant". Sam didn't _work_ for Frodo so much as he cared for him.

Money was the culprit in this situation, gold and silver. It conspired with prestige and family background. Because Frodo was richer, and more educated, and possessed a surname of more status, he was supposed to be superior to Sam. "Never mind that he's more patient than I'll ever be," Frodo thought angrily, "and more reliable, and more gentle, and more hardworking!"

Elrond began to redress the laceration. "It's healing well, Frodo," he said. "Very well indeed." He secured the bandage and adjusted it slightly. "Now, you are free to do as you please."

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Merry and Pippin decided they were going to do some exploring of Rivendell, which they had not had much chance to do yet. However, they arranged to meet Frodo, Sam, and Bilbo for second breakfast at ten o'clock.

Before he exited Frodo's bedchamber, Elrond mentioned that any alterations in Frodo's clothing could be done with the help of the Lady Arwen, who was apparently an excellent sewer and embroiderer and had many kinds of needles and thread. And so Frodo and Sam set off for her room.

"I hope she's got at least one needle small enough for me to handle," said Sam as they walked down the corridor. Sam's sewing skills had begun to form three days after Bilbo's disappearance, when Frodo accidently ripped his shirt on a loose nail in the garden shed. After Sam's mother died and his youngest sister married, it was just Sam and his father left at 3 Bagshot Row, and the Gaffer's ever-increasing arthritis meant that Sam was in charge of any task that required dexterity.

"I'm sure she will, don't worry about that," said Frodo, turning the corner. "Are you sure that it's necessary to alter my clothes? I'll probably gain most if not all of the weight back, and besides, I don't want there to be extra work for you."

"Don't worry about that, my dear."

Sam typically addressed Frodo as "Mr. Frodo" or "sir", but on occasion it was "my dear". Frodo had always taken it as a matter of course, but now he wondered. "My dear…what?" he mused. "My dear master? My dear friend? My dear…?"

"Hello, Frodo. Hello, Samwise." It was the Lady Arwen, standing in the doorway of her room. Both of them said hello and kissed her hand.

Sam explained about Frodo's clothes, holding up the bag as he spoke. "And your dad, Mr. Elrond that is, said that you had – "

"Needles and thread? Yes, I do. Come inside, please." Though she smiled, her eyes were still rather pink.

In his one very brief visit to Arwen's bedchamber, Frodo had not noticed its dark elegance. The Lady's bed was made of mahogany wood with intricate carvings of faces and flowers, and about the bed was a canopy of heliotrope-colored velvet. The panes of her windows were made of small sections of pastel glass in green, blue, and lavender. Across the room from the bed were two identical burgundy armchairs, each with a footrest. It was on these footrests that Frodo and Sam sat.

From the top of her wardrobe Arwen brought down a great box, which was filled with fabric scraps, along with thread and needles. "I would stay and help you," she said, "but I have a previous engagement. You may leave the things there when you have finished. I hope to see you later this evening." And with that she left, black hair and satin dress swirling.

Sam began to dig through the box until he found a green spool of thread that perfectly matched Frodo's favorite vest. As Sam threaded the needle, Frodo said, "How about I look for thread while you sew."

"Oh no, that isn't necessary, sir. You can just sit there – or maybe go and find Mr. Bilbo, if you're wanting better company than mine."

"Sam, there could be no better company than yours."

Sam blushed and mumbled something.

"No, I mean it. Come, now, let me pick out the thread. I _can_ do some things for myself, you know."

"Sir, I never meant to imply that – "

"I know you didn't, Sam."

As he took out a cream-colored spool of thread and held it up to one of his shirts, Frodo hesitantly said, "You know, Sam, we've know each other for a long time now, and you've been a great friend to me, and I think it's high time that you stop calling me "Mr. Frodo" and "sir." Frodo will do."

Sam looked up, horrified. "Sir, I couldn't!"

"You could. I want you to."

Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo, but I just couldn't. It'd feel most unnatural."

Frodo's heart sank. "Sam," he thought, "dear Sam, if you think that calling me by my first name is unnatural, then what in the world would you think if I told you I might be in love with you?"


	10. Reflection and Realization

Chapter Ten: Reflection and Realization

"You know," said Frodo, "it's not that I don't want to spend time with you, Sam, but I really should go and see Bilbo. We have a lot of catching up to do. I'll see you at second breakfast."

"All right, then, sir," said Sam, snipping a thread.

Frodo walked out of the Lady Arwen's chamber and into the hallway. The bit about going to see Bilbo had just been an excuse to leave Sam. Clear thinking didn't seem to be possible in his presence. 

Frodo exited the Last Homely House through one of the side doors and walked out into a small garden. It was circular, with a colorful assortment of autumn flowers built around a grey stone fountain that splashed and bubbled. Frodo lay down on the edge of the fountain and looked up at the sky.

In matters of love, he realized, he was hopelessly inexperienced. He had never courted any lass, though there were a few in his tweens (before he became "odd") who had been interested in him. But the thought of being with any of them had never held any allure. 

He loved Sam, that much was plain. He loved his gentle hands and his willingness to help others and the way he had hardly left his side. But what kind of love was it? What kind of relationship was between them?

Though it wasn't something talked about in the Shire, at least not often and never in public, Frodo knew that there were some lads who fancied other lads and some lasses who fancied other lasses. This was considered quiet abnormal and potentially dangerous, though no one would ever say that to their faces. That wasn't what bothered him, really, at least not for himself. People were already thoroughly convinced that he was peculiar, and one more bizarre thing wouldn't do him much harm.

But then there was Sam. If, theoretically, Frodo was in love with Sam, and if, once again theoretically, Sam loved him in return, it would be an instant scandal. Though the Gamgees weren't rich, they were far more respectable than the Bagginses. And there was the fact that Sam was twelve years younger than Frodo. It wouldn't look like love or even affection; it would look like an older, lecherous hobbit seducing a young and naïve one who couldn't possibly understand what he was doing.

For a second, Frodo hated the Shire.

He closed his eyes and thought about Sam's fingers undoing buttons and, before he knew it, Frodo had fallen asleep.

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They were in the Lady Arwen's chamber, lying on her bed, and Sam was kissing Frodo's neck. "Do you like this?"

"Yes," Frodo breathed, his eyes half open. "Don't you dare stop."

Sam's tongue was warm and wet, and Frodo gasped. He pulled Sam on top of him and began to kiss him passionately, his tongue exploring the recesses of Sam's mouth.

"Frodo," Sam moaned, and began to undo his shirt buttons.

"Yes," Frodo gasped, "don't stop, I've been wanting this for so long…"

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"Frodo! There you are!"

Frodo squinted, his eyes adjusting to the sun, which was now much higher in the sky. He looked at the figure before him. "Merry?"

"Yes, of course it's me," said Merry. "Who else do you think? Come on, Pippin and I have been looking for you for the past hour. Second breakfast is ready."

Groggily, Frodo sat up and climbed off of the fountain. As he walked behind Merry, who was rambling on about all of the things he and Pippin had seen in Rivendell, Frodo recalled the dream.

"I've been wanting this for so long?" he thought. "But I – " But then he stopped. Some buried, hidden part of his mind was very familiar with the dream, and all its variations. He had dreamed it before. He had dreamed it before, and his mind had not let him remember it until now.

"Why," he thought, "I must have been in love with him for years, and just never let myself think it!"

"Frodo, what are you doing? Come on, we're already late."

"Coming, Merry," said Frodo absentmindedly, and began to walk again.

"Yes," he thought, "it all seems familiar now. Funny how things like that can happen, a person's mind keeping things from him. But now that I've realized it…what am I going to _do_?" 


	11. Graphology and Gardens

Chapter Eleven: Graphology and Gardens

After second breakfast, Frodo and Bilbo went back to the latter's room, where Frodo began to tell him all the things that had happened since Bilbo left Hobbiton. "Fascinating!" exclaimed Bilbo a few minutes into Frodo's story, and took out his quill and tablet. He kept writing as Frodo spoke, only interrupting occasionally to say things such as, "Really? You didn't. You did! Lobelia, in my house…" and "By a willow? Really? How interesting…"

Just as Frodo arrived at the hobbits' meeting with Tom Bombadil, there was a knock on the door and Sam came in. "Begging your pardon, I know you're busy," he said, "but Mr. Elrond says to tell you that everyone is meeting outside in the north garden, for singing songs and telling tales and such. He reckons this might be the last night of the year warm enough."

"Well, then we must be there!" said Bilbo, setting down his quill. "I expect that after this we shall all have to huddle around the fire. And I think our Frodo could use a rest from telling stories and would like to listen to some instead."

"It _is_ hard to remember all the details you want, Bilbo," said Frodo, brushing a lock of hair back.

"I haven't finished with you yet, either," said the older hobbit. "I plan on inquiring about your adventures every single day until you leave Rivendell."

"Maybe you'll remember this, Sam, I can't," said Frodo. "What was the year of the ale we drank at Merry's?"

"Thirteen-eleven, I think it was."

"Trust Sam to remember the parts about the ale," said Bilbo. "But that's enough writing for today. Let's go and join the others."

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Although it may have been the last night of the year to be outside, it was still chilly. They found Merry and Pippin huddled together next to the wall, sharing a blanket. 

"Hello!" said Merry. "You can all come in here if you like. There's plenty of blanket left."

"I think I'll sit closer to the fire, if you don't mind," said Bilbo. "It's the only thing that can truly keep me warm these days."

"I'll come in," said Frodo. Merry pulled back the coverlet and patted the ground next to him. Frodo sat down.

"Come on, Pippin, you've got some extra coverlet down there, move it down," said Merry. "There isn't enough for Sam on this end." But even when Pippin tugged at the blanket, there still wasn't enough.

"Don't bother yourselves with getting up, I'll just run back in and get myself another blanket," said Sam. He turned and headed back inside. Frodo looked after to him, watching the way his golden hair glistened in the light of the fire. It was beautiful.

When he turned his head back, he realized that Merry and Pippin were watching him. "Do you know yet if you're – " began Pippin.

"Yes," said Frodo quietly. "I am. Very much."

Merry slid one arm around his cousin's shoulder and guided Frodo's head onto his shoulder. "Then I hope it goes well for you, Frodo."

"How do you tell a person something like that?" Frodo asked, and he realized that his voice was breaking. "I don't even have any words to tell him in. There isn't a language to describe it." He blinked back the tears that were forming in his eyes.

Pippin took his hand. "It's all right, Frodo." 

Frodo looked at his younger cousin, who had grown up so much since they left home, especially in the last few days. After years of foolishness, Pippin was becoming an adult, and a fine one at that.

Merry took out a handkerchief from his vest pocket and wiped the tears that were just beginning to fall from Frodo's eyes. "Don't think about it for now," he said. "You have enough on your mind, and you will continue to have much on your mind until the Ring is destroyed. But for tonight, you are in Rivendell, in the house of Elrond. Enjoy yourself as much as you can." 

Just as Frodo sat up, Sam returned with a quilt. He sat down next to Frodo and spread the blanket over both of them. "There, now we'll be right warm," he said. "I'm eager to hear these Elf songs…I hope they're as exciting as they were in Mr. Bilbo's old stories!"


	12. Stories and Storms

Chapter Twelve: Stories and Storms

All in all, it was a lovely night to be outside and listening to songs and stories. There was a light breeze, but it was not very cold. At the virtually unanimous request of the Elves, Legolas sang first.

His voice was very clear and strong, able to surround the entire garden and reach to the heavens. It could reach wide ranges of notes, and was low but never deep.

And it was true, what Frodo had heard: the voices of Elves were able to makes their stories appear before their listeners. Around the fire stood great kings, fair maidens, and base evil-doers, all summoned by the powerful voice of Legolas.

After Legolas had finished, to great applause, a request rang out from the other side of the fire for Bilbo to tell of his adventures. This met with much approval from the Elves and even greater and louder approval from the hobbits.

" I grew up on this tale," Sam said to Frodo. "Used to pester Mr. Bilbo to tell it every day till my dad threatened to box my ears."

"The Wargs always frightened me when I was young," said Frodo. "I used to imagine them looking like Farmer Maggot's dogs, only larger and with bigger teeth. At night, if the wind was howling around the chimney, I'd think that the Wargs were outside, waiting to eat me."

"I was afraid of the trolls the most," said Sam. "All big and rough and hungry for anything they could eat…"

"I was scared of Gandalf," Pippin admitted, a bit pink-cheeked.

Merry stared at him incredulously. "You were afraid of _Gandalf_?!"

"When I was a child, yes! Because he was tall and he had a deep voice. And because of him, poor Bilbo had to go on an adventure and couldn't have six meals a day."

Merry laughed. "So Sam and Frodo were afraid of being devoured, and you were afraid of being hungry." He reached over and tousled Pippin's hair.

"And I was afraid because Gandalf was a wizard," said Pippin. "I thought that if I met him one day he might turn me into a toad."

"And I may yet, if you don't stop your babbling and listen to your cousin Bilbo, Peregrin Took," said a deep voice from the right. Pippin jumped, and Merry and Frodo began to laugh. Even Sam had to cover his mouth to hide a smile.

"So, you were frightened of me?" said Gandalf, taking a seat next to Pippin. "Well, that is not so hard to understand. I expect that a wizard could be a bit intimidating to a small hobbit-lad. But now, hush! I want to hear the story again, and offer a few of my own comments, perhaps."

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Just as Bilbo reached the part in his story where he returned home and found that his property was being auctioned, a boom of thunder drowned out his words. Within seconds, rain began to pour down on them.

"Well, it's a good thing that we used this night well," said Bilbo, who had walked over to Gandalf and the hobbits when he had realized that his story couldn't be continued. "Ah! Lady Arwen!"

Frodo looked up to see Arwen standing next to him, her hair hanging about her face like black vines. "I hoped that you would be here," she said, "for it occurred to me that I have not been introduced to two of your party."

"Oh!" said Frodo. "That's right! This is Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin – "

The "Took" was obliterated by another thunderclap.

"We should go inside, quickly," said Arwen, and she started for the door. Sam glanced at the sky and followed her, carrying the blankets.

"I think I shall stay here," said Merry. "I quite like the rain."

"You must be mad!" retorted Pippin. "Look at that lightening!"

"Yes, look at it!" said Merry, a wild grin on his face. "It's spectacular. Reminds me of Gandalf's fireworks."

"I'd much prefer to be warm and dry in bed, if you don't mind," said Pippin, shivering. (Frodo suspected that the shiver was more for emphasis than because he was cold.) "Rain makes all sorts of horrible mud, too."

"Perfect for pushing young Tooks into!" cried Merry, and with that, he tackled Pippin into the mud.

"You're both out of your minds," muttered Frodo, smiling, as his cousins wrestled in the dirt.

Pippin, who had just managed to pin Merry onto the ground, looked up. "Did you hear that?"

"I did!" said Merry.

"He insulted us!" cried Pippin. "Well, there's only one thing to do now!"

"Oh no you don't," Frodo started to say, but before he could finish, he had been pulled down into the mud.

"Out of our minds, are we?" said Merry mock-indignantly, as he took a handful of mud and rubbed it in Frodo's hair.

"Yes," said Frodo lightheartedly, dropping a clump of soil down Merry's shirt. "Completely mad. Wanting to stay outside in the rain…well, the Brandybucks were always queer when it came to water."

"You're half a Brandybuck yourself!" said Pippin, and threw a well-aimed mud ball at Frodo's chest.

"It's in your blood too," said Frodo, pushing past Merry and onto Pippin, pinning him by his shoulders.

"Let's see," said Merry. "I'm queer because I like water…Frodo's mad because he was raised by Bilbo…"

"And Pippin's odd because he's got Tookish part-fairy blood!" said Frodo as Pippin pushed him over and onto his back.

"So that means we're all quite strange and less than respectable," said Merry.

"All the more reason to fling mud at each other," said Pippin, and he launched some at Merry.

Merry ducked and sat right up after the mud had gone over his head. "Sam!" he exclaimed suddenly. "The last respectable hobbit in Rivendell!"

Frodo looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway, looking quite clean and dry. "Mr. Frodo, come inside!" he shouted over the thunder. "You're in no condition to be roughhousing about, and no one ought to be outside in this weather. If Mr. Gandalf or Mr. Elrond find out about this – "

"All right, I'll come inside," said Frodo, getting up quickly. Merry and Pippin followed him to the door.

"Why, you're soaked through!" Sam exclaimed. "Look at your clothes…and it'll take me at least half an hour to get that mud out of your hair."

"You know, Sam, I do wonder what Frodo would do without you," Pippin said.

"Probably spend more time than is good for him running around with the likes of you two," said Sam, not unkindly.


	13. Ablutions and Arousal

Chapter Thirteen: Ablutions and Arousal

The four of them proceeded back to the hallway on which their rooms were located. At the end of this hallway was a bathroom that drew in hot water from a heated well outside. Sam went inside the bathroom, twisted the taps, and then turned to Merry and Pippin.

"You two can either wait until Mr. Frodo's done or else use the upstairs bathroom and drip mud all over Mr. Elrond's pretty tile." Not surprisingly, they decided to wait until Frodo had finished.

Sam went down the hall to get Frodo's nightclothes, leaving Merry and Pippin outside and Frodo in the bathroom. Frodo shut the door and began to undress.

He _had_ gotten thinner, much more than he'd realized, he noticed as he took off his rain-soaked shirt. His stomach, which had once stuck out, was now flat. If he lay down, it would be concave.

After taking off the rest of his clothes, Frodo poured generous amounts of foaming soap into the water and slid in. Although the black marble tub was small for an Elf (Elrond's children had used it when they were very, very young), it was large and luxurious for a hobbit. Frodo stretched out, his toes poking above the water's surface.

Sam came in at that moment and draped Frodo's nightclothes over the back of the chair that stood in the corner. "Your poor hair!" he said, looking at Frodo's muddy and tangled curls. "I can see I'm going to have a time of it getting all that dirt out." He picked up a cup from the side of the sink and filled it. "Here, Mr. Frodo, tilt your head back."

Frodo did so and closed his eyes. Warm water slid through his hair. His eyes still shut, he could hear Sam opening a bottle of soap.

As Sam's fingers slid through his hair, Frodo sighed. He had long ago discovered that his head and his neck were two of the most sensitive parts of his body. Any time they were rubbed or touched, it put him into an almost trance-like state. When he was young, his mother would comb his hair before supper, and nine times out of ten he'd be asleep before she finished.

But while those trances had been hypnotic, this one was erotic.

"Stop it, Frodo," he told himself. "Think of something else." However, the only thought that came to mind was that he was glad to be covered by the bubbles; he was in somewhat of an embarrassing physical state.

"You might think me bold, sir," said Sam as he rinsed out the soap, "but I've always thought that you must have the prettiest hair in the Shire."

"I don't," said Frodo before he could stop himself. "Yours is prettier."

"Oh sir, it isn't!"

"It is," said Frodo, sitting up and turning to Sam. "Mine's just brown, like everyone else. Yours is thick" he stroked a curl "and golden, and gorgeous."

Sam turned a deep shade of scarlet. "My Gaffer always said it reminded him of straw."

"Well, it reminds _me_ of honey," said Frodo.

"Yours puts me in mind of chocolate," said Sam. Then, suddenly, he exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Frodo, you're ever so beautiful!"

Frodo's heart was beating fast; his arousal had reached the point where it was almost painful. Just then, he heard Pippin's voice call, "Are you almost done in there?"

"Be quiet, Pip," he heard Merry mutter.

"Just about," called Frodo. His hair was clean now. Passing some soap over the rest of his body (which had returned to its regular state), he stepped out of the tub, dried himself off, and quickly dressed.

"It's all yours," he said to Merry and Pippin as he and Sam left the room.

When they got back to the bedroom, Sam yawned. "If you don't mind, sir, I think I'll go to bed."

"Go right ahead, Sam."

Sam slid under the covers without undressing and was asleep within the minute.

Frodo lay down on his own bed but was wakeful.

Note: Many of my reviewers have been asking when our two lads are finally going to get together. It's not in this story. Nor is it in the sequel. However, things change considerably in the third part of the series and continue in the same vein in the fourth. You can see my bio for more details. Therefore, if you're expecting passionate lovemaking, go somewhere else for a while. Those who stay, however, can expect much tenderness, angst, musings, and sweetness.


	14. Musings and Memories

Chapter Fourteen: Musings and Memories

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. It was Merry, now clean and in his nightclothes. "Frodo? Are you asleep?"

"Not even close," said Frodo, opening his eyes.

"Come in my room, I want to talk to you."

Frodo followed Merry into the latter's bedroom, which was a bit smaller than his. "So," said Merry, lying down on the bed and grinning broadly, "it seems our Samwise is quite smitten with you."

"Meriadoc Brandybuck, you've been eavesdropping!"

"Of course I have," said Merry, patting the spot on the bed next to him. "My dear old hobbit, haven't you learned by now that it's impossible to keep secrets from me?"

"If I hadn't before, than I certainly have now," Frodo said. "But you're wrong, unfortunately."

"Oh, come now, Frodo!"

"He isn't, Merry," said Frodo, and tears began to form in his eyes. "If he was, he'd call me by my first name. I asked him to."

"And he wouldn't?"

"He said it would feel unnatural."

Merry grimaced. "Maybe he just needs time to get used to the idea." He looked directly at Frodo. "You're crying!"

"Only a bit," said Frodo, wiping his eyes.

Merry laid his hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Do you remember back when you lived in Brandy Hall and I used to have nightmares?"

"You woke the whole place up with your screaming," said Frodo, smiling a little as he remembered. "I was the only one who could convince you that everything was all right." He lay down next to Merry.

"I was _so_ angry at Bilbo when I heard that he was adopting you," said Merry, his eyes staring off into space. "My mother says I scowled for a week straight."

"It was years before you'd come and visit me at Bag End," said Frodo. "I remember waking up one morning to Bilbo shaking me awake. 'You've got company in the parlor,' he said.

"And then I came out of my room and I saw you, sitting on one of Bilbo's overstuffed armchairs, your little feet kicking above the floor and a bundle on your lap. 'Frodo!' you cried. Oh, you were so excited! 'Frodo, look at my new cousin!'"

"I remember," said Merry, a smile twitching on the edge of his lips.

"You couldn't keep still about him! 'His name is Peregrin,' you told me. 'Peregrin Took, but Aunt Eglantine calls him Pippin. Look how little he is! Was I that little, Frodo?' I told you that you were a bit bigger. You were so ecstatic over Pippin that you forgot to be angry at Bilbo."

"He was?" said a voice from the door.

"Hello, Pippin," said Merry, looking a bit sheepish.

Pippin lay down on the bed next to Merry. "Some of my earliest memories are of Merry dragging me in and out of Bag End," he said. "I remember sitting on his lap, listening to Bilbo's stories."

Merry yawned. "I always loved the cold nights when we stayed over, sitting up and drinking tea. And then at night we three would huddle together for warmth in Frodo's bed and whisper until Bilbo would insist we go to sleep…"

"Things were so much simpler then," said Frodo.


	15. Frost and Failure

Chapter Fifteen: Frost and Failure

Despite what Merry had said, Frodo still doubted that Sam saw him as anything more than an employer and friend. The incident in the bathroom had been dangerously candid. In an effort to occupy his mind with other matters, Frodo spent the next several weeks helping Bilbo with his book.

Bilbo was glad of the company for, besides himself, Frodo was the most literary hobbit in the Shire. He was very excited to hear of Frodo's adventures, and nothing escaped his commentary.

"You sold my house to Lobelia!" he'd exclaim, scratching away with his quill. "A Bracegirdle living in the house my father built…no, I don't blame you, lad, but…try to get it back when you return home, will you?'

On another day h would cry, "A willow? Merry and Pippin got consumed to a willow? Fascinating…hand me that parchment over there, please."

Or maybe, "Nine of them? It gives me the shivers…they sound like ghastly things. Oh, I wish I'd never picked up that blasted Ring…"

In the evenings, when Bilbo was tired of writing, Frodo would walk in the gardens with the Lady Arwen, who was tutoring him in both Quenya and Sindarin. At night, he would return to Sam, who would tell im about his day and about any news before the two of them fell asleep.

On night in the beginning of December, Frodo stood in the deadened garden, waiting for Arwen. The wind swept around and he clutched his cloak tightly t o him. "She's probably more sensible than you and has stayed inside," he said to himself. "Right now, she's most likely in her room, and has got the fire going." This idea both made sense and pleased him, so he went inside and started up the stairs.

The Last Homely House had grown more populated in recent days as the scouts returned. On his way down the corridor, Frodo passed Gimli and Gloin talking to some of them; tall and dark men who resembled Aragorn, the scouts were most likely Rangers.

As Frodo approached Arwen's door, the Rangers and dwarves started to walk in the other direction and disappeared down the staircase. The hallway was now empty.

"What is it that you wished to speak with me about, Arwen?"

Recognizing Elrond's voice, Frodo stood on the tips of his toes and put his ear to the keyhole. He did not mean to intrude, but his concern for the Lady had grown over the past weeks.

He heard her voice say, a little hesitantly, "The Rangers say that Aragorn should return within the next few days."

"I have heard this," said Elrond, and Frodo thought he detected a note of caution in his voice.

There was a long pause. Then Arwen said, "I have loved him for decades, Father, and now he is to embark on what will be his most dangerous quest. If he were never to return, I would regret deeply that I had not been with him in his last moments. I am brave, Father, and my archery (while it does not compare to that of some) is worthy of battle. You have not yet chosen the Company that will accompany the Ring-bearer, but I know that Aragorn will be one of their number. I ask to go with him."

Elrond sighed. "Arwen – "

"I would go as one of the Company, not as Aragorn's wife," she said hurridly. "I have no wish to disobey you. My desire is to aide in the journey."

"Arwen, war is not in your nature."

"Yet assistance is."

"You have no comprehension of the dangers you will face."

"Neither does Frodo, and yet he is to be the Ring-bearer."

"Arwen, you are my youngest child and only daughter. My heart would be crushed if you perished."

"Then you can understand the depths of my love for Aragorn," she said. "Please let me go."

"I cannot."

"Please." There was desperation in her voice.

"I am sorry, Arwen."

"I beg you!"

"Arwen – "

There was a gasp, and Frodo jumped back as the door opened. The lady ran out, her hands on her face and he hair streaming behind her. Elrond came after her, but he stopped after a few steps. He sighed heavily and walked down the corridor – away from Frodo, whom he had not noticed.

Once Elrond had gone into his own room, Frodo ran after Arwen. He found her kneeling next to a bench on the floor, her head buried in her arms.

"Hello, my lady," said Frodo apprehensively. 

"Arwen, please."

"Arwen."

"I suppose you heard every last word of that exchange, she said, raising her tear-streaked face.

"I did. I am sorry."

She looked at him, her eyes wide with anguish. "I have no _estel_," she said.

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After Arwen became more calm, Frodo took her back to her room.

"You must not thing that there is nothing left," he said. "perhaps Aragorn will return safely and the two of you will wed."

"Perhaps."

"It will do you no good to dwell on the dismal possibilities," Frodo said firmly. "There is something I must confess…Arwen. Before his departure, Aragorn bade me to keep a watch over you."

She actually smiled. "I am not surprised. Nor am I angry."

"You are a friend to me now, not a responsibility."

"I know, Frodo," said Arwen, and she knelt down so that their faces were parallel. "And when Aragorn returns, I will that him for sending me such a wonderful companion."

A bit boldly, Frodo kissed her on the forehead.


	16. Inhalation and Intricacy

Chapter Sixteen: Inhalation and Intricacy

"Which word do you like better, Frodo, 'fascinated' or 'intrigued'?"

"Usually I would choose 'intrigued'," said Frodo, "but I think that 'fascinated' works better in this particular sentence."

"Just what I was thinking!" exclaimed Bilbo delightedly, and he dipped his quill in the inkwell.

There was a knock at the door, and Sam stuck his head in. "I'm sorry to be interrupting," he said, "but Mr. Elrond sent me to tell you that the last of the scouts has come back."

"Ah, excellent," said Bilbo, setting down his quill. "Oh, there's something I've been meaning to ask you, Sam…how's Rosie?"

Sam blushed and muttered, "I wouldn't know, sir."

"Oh, come now!" said Bilbo, chuckling. "She's been after you since you two were too short to reach my doorknob."

"We've never actually courted, Mr. Bilbo," said Sam, staring down at the floor.

"She seemed to think otherwise," said Bilbo, climbing off his chair and smiling.

"I think I'll go outside and smoke," said Frodo.

"Don't you want to hear the news the scouts brought back, Mr. Frodo?"

"I'll hear it later. You two go on without me." And having said that, Frodo opened the door and walked out into the garden.

The temperatures had dropped even lower since three days ago when he had waited outside for Arwen. Nothing was alive anymore, and most of the brown flower corpses were covered with frost. Dusk had fallen. Shivering, Frodo took out his pipe and weed-pouch from his waistcoat pocket.

"They'd be miserable together," he said out loud, halfheartedly filling his pipe. "Why, his mind is always somewhere else…other lands, other times. He's curious, he wants to know things, he'll never be content to stay in the Shire his whole life, as much as he loves it. Rosie…" He stopped, thinking about what he knew of Rosie Cotton.

She was a pretty enough girl, with shining hair and dark green eyes that were her best feature. She liked to dance, and her mother bemoaned her horrible sewing and wished she'd spend more time at home, where she ought to be. But Rosie's defiant inclinations went only as far as twirling about the meadows. She could not read, and had no wish to. Stories of other places bored her. Her mind was rooted firmly in the Shire, and her curiosity was practically non-existent. 

But she was mad about Sam…and, unfortunately, the two families were close. Sam's sister Marigold was already married to Rosie's brother Tom.

It was no good, Frodo told himself. When they got home (if they ever did), Sam would marry Rosie and they'd settle down, start an enormous family. Nothing would ever come of Frodo's love for Sam, and it was high time he forgot about it and focused his attentions elsewhere. "But how _can_ I forget?" he thought to himself. "How can a person just forget they love someone? I can't, and I won't!"

"Are you planning to smoke that pipe or stare at it?" asked a deep voice from behind him.

Frodo turned his head to see a familiar pair of travel-worn boots. He looked up. "Hello, Strider."

Aragorn sat down next to Frodo and stretched out his long legs. He took out his own pipe and filled it. Lighting a match, he lit first Frodo's pipe and then his own.

"So," said Frodo, somewhat listlessly, "what news has been brought back?"

"Not very much," said Aragorn. He inhaled, held the smoke for a couple of seconds, and then let it out. "You will most likely leave within a few days."

"Oh," said Frodo. With glazed eyes, he watched the smoke drift over the brown flowers.

"But you have other things on your mind," said the Ranger. It was a statement and not a question.

Frodo nodded, his eyes blinking sluggishly and his pipe-weed burning away unsmoked.

"It's Sam, isn't it."

Frodo's eyes flew into focus and he hurriedly pulled the pipe from his mouth. "And how did you know that!" he exclaimed.

Aragorn smiled one of his rare smiles, small and a little sad. "Years and years ago, Frodo son of Drogo," he said, "I fell deeply in love with the Lady Arwen, whom, I hear, has become your friend. I am very pleased, but that is not the purpose of my tale.

"Elrond knew of my love for Arwen, and I was surprised, as you are now. It was because Elrond's wise and experienced eyes could see things in mine."

"That's what he was doing," Frodo thought to himself, "that's what Elrond was doing the night I asked for Sam's bed to be in my room." He was struck by the greatness and kindness of the Elf – Elrond had known all this time, and yet he had kept Frodo's secret.

"I do not claim to be as wise as Elrond," said Aragorn, "but in your eyes I find both pain and love. Your cousin Bilbo has said that you remind him more of an Elf than a hobbit at times. I think he is right; love between those of the same gender is much revered by the Elven-kind."

"Could you read Sam's eyes?" Frodo asked.

"I have tried, the night I first looked into the depths of yours," said Aragorn, "but they are difficult to interpret, and my powers in this domain are weak. Perhaps it is only an Elven gift."

Frodo smoked for a while, thinking. Then he said, "Strider, do you see that large red star on the horizon?"

"I do," said Aragorn.

"It is the Eye of Sauron," said Frodo, "and I wish I could read its secrets, so that I may complete my task and bring us all safely home."

Aragorn took Frodo's hand and raised it to his lips. "I shall be greatly honored to serve as your companion, Frodo Baggins," he said.


	17. Languidness and Luminescence

Chapter Seventeen: Languidness and Luminescence

The first day of the quest had drawn to a close, and all of the Company, save one, were asleep. Frodo, kept from slumber by both the harsh wind and his own thoughts, was wakeful.

He looked at all his companions as they slept. Gimli's closed eyes were barely visible amidst his thick hair and beard. Legolas's fair face was turned towards the moon, which washed them all in pale light.

Boromir was the most restless, twitching and turning every minute or so. Aragorn lay motionless, but one hand was closed tightly around Anduril's hilt. Gandalf slept sitting up, his breathing steady. Merry and Pippin huddled together under one blanket, their mouths slack from fatigue.

Last of all was Sam, who lay directly next to Frodo. His lips were barely parted and his hair fell about his face. "He looks so peaceful," Frodo thought. "My sweet Samwise."

Leaning over, Frodo lighly brushed Sam's lips with his, very gently so as not to wake him. Sam stirred a little but did not awake. 

It was as he had said to Arwen, Frodo thought. "You must not think that there is nothing left…It will do you no good to dwell on the dismal possibilities." If there was no hope, than there was nothing.

"I love you, Sam," Frodo whispered in the darkness. "You are my light."

And then Frodo crawled back under the covers and fell asleep, hope in his heart and love in his eyes.

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This is the end of The Language of Kisses, Part One in the Language Series.


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